And I a captive in these mournful towers?
Stockholm once lost, can Sweden yet remain,
Or freedom linger in her desert plain?
Yet, unextinguish'd by the conquering foe,
Some spark in distant provinces may glow;
(As the swift lightning, weary of its course,
On some low distant cloud collects its scatter'd force)
Prepared ere long to burst in tenfold wrath,
And dart destruction on the hostile path.

"Thou too, Ernestus! what protecting doom
Has guided thee thro' fate's tremendous gloom?
Unhappy relic of a patriot line,
Dost thou with all their ancient glory shine,
And, unappall'd by labour or by fear,
Lift for thy country the protecting spear?
Or, wrapt in fetters, and in darkness lost,
Say, dost thou languish for thy native coast?
Perhaps, unnoted, by the tyrant's eyes,
In unknown solitude secure he lies--
Whate'er his fate, nor terror's base control,
Nor hostile bribes, can e'er have moved his soul,
No! taught by me, Ernestus nobly spurns
Each vulgar aim, and for his country burns.

"Why art thou sad, my soul? the eye divine
Still looks on all; to grieve is to repine!
And tho' destruction cover all the shore,
Tho' heroes, kings, and statesmen be no more,
Tho' Stenon, vainly mild, and vainly brave,